Havoc will reign when next the sun shall rise.

The wheels pause only for a little space,
And in the pause they gather strength again.
'Tis but the veil drawn over Labour's face,

O'er strife, derision, and the sin of men.
My heart with a sweet inner joy o'erflows
To nature's peace, and a kind silence knows.






THE WELCOME

But see: my lady comes. I hear her feet
Upon the sward; she standeth by my side.
Just such a face Raphael had deified,
If in his day they two had chanced to meet.

And I, tossed by the tide of circumstance,
Lifting weak hands against a host of swords,
Paused suddenly to hear her gentle words
Making powerless the lightnings of mischance.

I, who was but a maker of poor songs,
That one might sing behind his prison bars,
I, who it seemed fate singled out for wrongs--